


Filigree

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bottom Kevin, Collars, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Safeword Use, Safewords, Top Charles, but probably not like you're thinking, so many feelings dear God, strexcorp (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: trials, tribulations and solutions in BDSM relationships
Relationships: Charles/Kevin (Welcome to Night Vale)
Kudos: 15





	Filigree

**Author's Note:**

> look I'm pretty sure that the concept of Strex collars is somewhat outdated fanon, but this idea popped into my head and then proceeded to camp there, so here we are. 
> 
> warnings for bloodplay (no actual cutting, though there is a very brief mention of such) and glancing mention of panic attacks.
> 
> probably could've been rated M. I went with the E just to be safe, but this is the least smutty smut I've ever written.

It's almost funny, almost a cliche, the powerful man, utterly submissive in private. It feels like fiction, the first time Kevin kneels at Charles' feet, the way the weight slides from his shoulders. The way -- oh, he'd known there was weight, of course, had welcomed it, but the sudden realization of just how _much_ he'd been carrying, the sudden rush of peace as it slips away -- it's an italicized- _oh_ moment straight from a romance novel.

The accoutrements come later. They're entertaining enough, for the most part. Almost mundane in comparison. It's not exactly the first time Kevin's been handcuffed to a bed, after all. It is the first time there's been anything behind it, but that was there with or without the cuffs. Perhaps more without, when he's unbound and ordered to keep still, held in place by Charles' words and Charles' will.

Leather and steel could never hope to compare.

Rope is different. Rope is a ritual, a constant reminder as it's wound around and around him, not about binding or immobilizing but _holding_ , Charles holding him everywhere, spread across every inch of his body.

Also, he knows that Charles loves the process just as much, loves the look of it, and in this state, absolutely nothing feels so good as pleasing Charles. Knowing he can do so just with this, without having to do anything but submit... Kevin feels incredible. Wrapped in gold and utterly radiant.

Cuffs and gags and various implements go into a drawer and, for the most part, stay there.

But there is one other thing they both want to try.

☀️

The collar is gold, to match the ropes, shining and lovely in its simplicity. Something twists in Kevin's chest at the sight of it, eagerness -- is it eagerness? -- nearly choking him for a moment.

Kevin does not safeword, when Charles locks the collar into place. He might have done, were he not slightly busy being so deeply and immediately and obviously in the middle of a panic attack that words have lost all meaning.

Then again, he might not have.

Charles frowns when he confesses this, several hours later. Reminds him that he shouldn't force himself, shouldn't push through things he doesn't want. That isn't what this is about.

And that...yes, that is a thing Kevin does, that is valid. It's kind of amazing how much more valid it seems since they've started doing this.

But also.

Kevin _wants_ it.

He wants that final reminder, like the rope, a physical version of Charles' will. Of the moments when Charles' large hand will settle at his throat, not gripping, just holding. Wants to be beautiful, the way he only is reflected in Charles' eyes.

(If he's honest -- which he isn't -- he wants it as a final fuck-you aimed in Strexcorp's general direction.)

The second collar is soft leather, slimmer, pale pink. Charles buckles it in place, talking, soothing, the entire time. It sits against his throat. The panic rises. It doesn't even make sense, he's not even _thinking_ about -- that. Mentally, he is here, with Charles. Still his body reacts, muscles tensing, breath coming rapidly.

He can take it, though. He can. He--

The nice thing, the thing that Kevin has come to learn, is coming to actually understand, is that safewording when he needs to _also_ pleases Charles. The pride radiating off him is so strong Kevin can feel it, like a physical thing, sinking into his skin. Allowing him to turn the disappointment he feels toward the situation, rather than himself.

It doesn't help as much as he'd hoped.

☀️

Kevin kneels on the bed, wearing only a blindfold, hands clasped behind his back, shoving down his nervousness through sheer will. Charles had said he wanted to try something, hand resting on Kevin's collarbone, thumb stroking idly against his throat, leaving little doubt as to the sort of thing he has in mind, and Kevin --

Kevin dreads the thought of another failed attempt, knowing all the while that the dread only makes it that much more likely.

He can feel Charles' eyes on him as the man makes whatever preparations there are to be made, and then there is motion, a warm hand on his shoulder, a large finger set in the hollow of his throat, running up to his chin, bringing his head up in a smooth motion. Kevin holds the position without having to be told, and thought drops away for the moment.

There's a pop, a cap opening, and Kevin makes a small sound of surprise. Maybe Charles is not going where he thinks with this at all.

Something brushes ever so lightly against his neck, just left of center, leaving a damp and slightly sticky trail in its wake. The feeling retreats, and then returns. What on earth--

And then the scent hits him. Kevin sucks in a breath, sways slightly, literally dizzy with sudden arousal at the realization that Charles is drawing -- no, painting, that must be a tiny, delicate paintbrush --

Charles is painting on him with blood.

Charles works slowly, methodically, heedless of the way Kevin is trembling, not with fear now but irrepressible lust. The first stroke connects to another, and another, some straight, some curving, all drawn across his skin with the same delicacy and precision, quickly beginning to resolve into a band, stretching around his neck.

He can almost picture it, the brush, dipped in red, hanging for a moment to allow any excess to drip away, then flicking so gently, so slowly against him. The lines and whorls transferring from Charles' hands to his skin, shining and glimmering for a moment before drying, darkening. He can't work out what the design is. Every time he tries to figure it out, tries to focus on the direction, the feel of the brush, he's overwhelmed by the _sensation_. The flick, and the drag, and the _warmth_ , quickly followed by the blood drying tacky against his throat, pulling slightly at his skin as he swallows.

It doesn't matter. He doesn't need to know the pattern. He doesn't need to know or do or be anything except here, in Charles' wonderful, capable hands. He lets it go, and simply imagines the band of red spreading, wrapping around him. Though he does not know the exact design, it feels like filigree. Like an exquisitely, delicately designed cage that he is delighted to be caught in.

Occasionally Charles adjusts his position, turning and tilting Kevin's head slightly to examine his progress or reach a difficult spot. Deprived of sight and helplessly turned on, the slight brush of his fingers feels incredible, almost as much so as his praise as Kevin responds, shifting easily and then holding each position until he's gently nudged into the next.

He does not move, aside from this, and the clenching of his fists, and the fine trembling he cannot hope to control. His thighs burn and his cock twitches against him with the effort of keeping still, but the idea of squirming and ruining Charles' work is unthinkable. Kevin moans and whines and babbles with increasing frequency and volume, able to keep control of his body or his mouth, but not both. Both is entirely too much to ask, and so Charles has never asked it of him. The occasional hushing noises he makes, Kevin knows are meant to soothe, not to quiet.

Kevin drifts in the pleasure, thoughts disconnected and primarily of the _yes yes yes_ variety. He wonders idly where Charles got the blood, if he might be willing to take it from a living and _extremely_ enthusiastic donor next time. His boyfriend has always been so sweet, so shy about cutting him, but Kevin can be very persuasive.

His cock jerks as he barely suppresses a shudder at the thought, whining high and desperate, and feels Charles, beautiful, methodical, meticulous Charles, twitch at the sound.

The brush slips, the newest line going on thick and then -- oh smiling god -- _dripping_ slightly. Charles makes a considering sound, pausing for only a moment before wiping up the errant blood drop with his thumb. Kevin does shudder then, overcome with the feeling of it, and then that thumb is in his mouth, and he sucks at it greedily, moaning as the taste fills his mouth.

It's almost too much, too good. For a split second he thinks it is, and then Charles is kissing him, firm and deep. The taste of the blood mingling in their mouths is unbelievably erotic, but the kiss itself is grounding, allowing Kevin to pull back a bit, to endure.

His chest is heaving as Charles pulls away, sounding amused as he asks Kevin for his color. It takes him a moment to respond because his head is full of _red_ , lovely, sweet sticky red, on his skin and in his mouth and surrounding him with its scent, but he is so, so green. His earlier nerves are utterly gone, and even his desperate arousal fades beneath the feeling of being safe and cared for and loved.

And Charles... Charles is doing this for him, he knows, has found a way to give him what he needs, and he would adore the man for that alone. But more than that... Another, hypothetical partner might tolerate Kevin's...enjoyment of blood, might deign to do this for him. Charles is whispering endearments, telling him how beautiful he is, how much he loves doing this, and he means every word. He crawls onto the bed, settling close behind Kevin to get at the back of his neck, and Kevin can feel how hard he is, feels his own cock throb in response.

Between slow, careful strokes of the brush, he keeps up his litany of praise and adoration, telling Kevin how gorgeous he is, how good, how well he's doing. It's beginning to run just slightly to babble, the calm and competent dom mingling with the blissfully enamored lover, but then, they've always straddled that line, and it's not as though Kevin properly notices. He's focusing less on the individual words now than the tone, the feeling of Charles' words and Charles' praise washing over him.

That is, until Charles starts telling him how much he'd like to lick the blood from his skin. He's bent close, the better to see the fine detail work, and his breath blows warm across skin and blood alike as he tells Kevin how he wants to lick and suck and nibble at his neck. To know the taste of blood from his lover's skin, to see how that oddly compelling tang changes when it's mixed with the taste of him. He doesn't want to ruin Kevin's pretty new collar, but...

A considering pause, then Charles corrects himself. He does, he wants to ruin it very much. But not yet.

Charles' hand rests on Kevin's back, the only thing keeping him from simply spinning off into the void in the face of that mental image, and he leans in, pressing a gentle, careful kiss to the nape of his neck, the just-completed, rapidly-drying bit of collar. Kevin whines, body all but convulsing as he wonders if any of those fine, fine lines have transferred to Charles' lips. If even now he might be licking them off.

The answer comes in the form of a satisfied sound against the shell of his ear, and Kevin sobs and begins to beg.

Charles runs a soothing hand down his back as he slips off the bed and resumes his work, beginning to bring the collar back around to the front. Kevin is keenly aware of his progress now, the knowledge of exactly how much of this process is left to go only making the wait that much harder. He endures, loving and loathing the feeling in equal measure, so close, and yet...

Charles grips his chin, gently turning his head this way and that, examining one side and then the other, and Kevin breathes, settling into the feeling. Charles lets him go, comparison apparently finished. Kevin feels him reach for the brush again, prepares for the now-familiar drag of it.

It doesn't come. Instead there's a pause, and then a fat drop of blood lands on his skin, warm and wet and sliding down the flesh of his throat, the exact mirror of the thick drip on the other side. Kevin keens, unable to take much more, unable to do otherwise.

He's barely aware of it as Charles tidies up the errant blood and moves on. Awareness is far away now, leaving him with only sensation and blind need.

By the time his collar reaches the front, Kevin is whimpering steadily, tiny gasps and snatches of _yes_ and _please_ and _Charles Charles **Charles**_ dripping from his lips. Charles takes his face between his hands, kissing him soundly, and Kevin melts into it.

He swears he feels it, when the last curving line falls across his skin, looping delicately through the first, like a clasp, the collar snapping into place. Charles stands back for a moment, admiring his work. Kevin can picture the look on his face as clearly as if he were looking right at him.

And then he is, as Charles pushes the blindfold up and off, letting him see the naked, shining adoration there, just as he'd imagined it. He lets Kevin look for a moment, lets him tremble and squirm and see his beauty and his lust reflected in Charles' eyes, and then he's pushing him back onto the bed.

Charles takes him, and it is glorious, but it's nothing to the feeling of being wrapped in bloody filigree, utterly, undeniably claimed.

**Author's Note:**

> look I would've loved to write the actual sex but it would have taken me another month so.
> 
> no proper dialogue bc I wasn't sure I could write these two convincingly, but shh let's call it a stylistic choice.
> 
> I definitely did not draw out a rough approximation of the collar with a brush pen on my own wrist while writing this. nope. >_>
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
